Free Memory and Desire by Lillian Stewart Carl

herself.
    “Elizabeth did needlework for that bitch Lettice Lacey,” Diana went on. “Learned from her grandmother, who worked for Bess of Hardwick. Now there's a woman. Money, class, the lot."
    “I always liked her,” Claire returned. “Married and buried four husbands, getting richer each time. She built gorgeous houses and even meddled in politics. Queen Elizabeth gave her and one of her husbands the job of keeping Mary, Queen of Scots, under house arrest. Legend has Bess and Mary sitting together over their needlework, probably saying nasty things about the bloody-mindedness of men."
    “Well, then, you're quite the scholar, aren't you?” said Diana.
    Oops, Claire thought. She'd been playing the know-it-all. There had to be some way of splitting the difference between dumb and overbearing.
    The door opened and several more people came in, including Richard. Rob started rapping glasses onto the bar and glared daggers at Diana.
    “Enjoy,” she said to Alec and Claire. Tossing her head, she thrust her bosom out like the figurehead of a ship and turned to the table where three of the newcomers were sitting down. They greeted her with several raunchy comments. She upped the ante with some of her own and took their orders.
    Richard ordered a bitter from Rob. As he walked by Claire and Alec's table he offered them a reasonably affable nod.
    Claire smiled warily back. Alec said, “Sit down, Richard. Have a natter."
    “Thanks, but I've some letters that need seeing to just now.” He found a chair by the fireplace and pulled several envelopes from his pocket.
    You know, Claire thought toward him, if I was the suspicious type I'd think you were avoiding me. She turned to her plate and started forking up the meat and potatoes. The pie could have used more pepper, but the vegetables were nice and fresh. She waited until Alec was mopping up the last of the gravy with his bread before prodding him into conversation again. While the ghost stories were fascinating—would she have some good tales to tell in the faculty lounge!—right now Melinda was more important. “So you talked to a lot of people about Melinda's disappearance. You didn't know it was a murder then, so I guess your procedures were different."
    “We're still not positive it's a murder,” he warned. “The first rule in any case is to talk to the people closest to the victim. So we talked to the Nairs, the volunteers at the Hall, the cast and crew of the play. Blake even sent his sergeant to London to interview her ex-husband. No one admitted to anything."
    Someone who wasn't a cop, Claire reflected, would have said no one knew anything. “So you have records of everyone's alibi, then."
    Alec shook his head. “We need a time of death to establish alibis. We need a cause of death to search for weapons. We need a motive before we can consider suspects. We don't have any of those."
    “No. You don't. A body would help, wouldn't it?"
    “Oh yes, it would indeed. Although after all this time....” He let the sentence evaporate, like Elizabeth's ghost had evaporated this afternoon.
    Not just anyone's body, but Melinda's. Melinda's physical shell, ripped untimely away from her humor, her intelligence, her spirit. Was her ghost, too, wandering around the Hall? Claire hoped not. If anyone deserved to rest, it was Melinda.
    Suddenly Richard's chair crashed back against the wall. He stood up. His scowl of rage and resentment hit Claire, and only Claire, like the slap of dueling gloves. His hand crushed the envelope he was holding, one with a big red and yellow commemorative stamp.
    Claire felt her eyebrows and mouth constrict from bewilderment into a frown. What the hell is it now?
    The spigots for dispensing beer and ale peeked over the counter like a row of spectators. Rob counted change into the cash register, each chink of coin against coin ringing loudly. Diana leaned forward, every glass on her tray quivering with eagerness.
    Richard wasn't about to oblige